


More

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Bloodplay, Bondage, Come Marking, Crying, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Kink Negotiation, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Painplay, Sex Toys, Subspace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for all my Milo/Voraan short fics.</p><p>Chapter 1: early relationship kink negotiation<br/>Chapter 2: bloodplay scene</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“More.”

Milo gladly obliges, guiding Voraan’s front half lower so he can change the angle of his thrusts, the elf’s face practically squished into the sheets and his arse in the air. A huge bed and a stunning view of the mountains and the stars, and the Inquisitor begging for more of his cock… how had he ever denied himself this? How had he ever managed being just a friend?

“More.” 

_ “More?” _ Milo chuckles breathlessly at Voraan’s demand, incredulous, unsure of how to comply. 

“Please,  _ harder _ … hurt me.”

Milo moans at the thought, but his conscience quickly catches up to him and his thrusting stutters to a halt. Conflicted to the point of being paralyzed, he just kneels there for a moment, panting. Voraan’s red hair whips back as he strains his head to see behind him. 

The moment is passing and on the verge of being completely unsalvageable. Still, he can’t bring himself to act before the moment is gone. He doesn't have it in him to continue. With an apologetic sigh, Milo gently, regretfully pulls out.

“I'm sorry,” Voraan says as he turns around, blue eyes pleading. “I shouldn't have said anything --”

“It's alright,” Milo soothes, trying to catch his breath as he sits down on the bed. “I'm not upset. Your request just -- took me by surprise.”

“You don't have to, if you're not comfortable with it,” Voraan insists, hunching over with his legs crossed and averting his eyes. His ears droop in that way that always pulls at Milo’s heart strings. “It was really good…” he pouts.

Milo worries at his lip, needing to hurry and explain before he makes things even worse. “Obviously I don't want to  _ hurt _ you. But I know pain can be pleasure, and I will admit sometimes I think about being more…  _ passionate _ in my affections,” he says carefully. “But I've been taught that one should be gentle and respectful of one’s bed partner. And now you're telling me, you don't want me to be gentle or respectful.”

Voraan glances up at him sheepishly. “Right.”

“So... then…” Milo says between breaths, wiping the sweat from his brows. “If that's not where we draw the line, where is the line?”

“I'll tell you if you do something I don't like,” the elf offers.

“Now, but see that would require that I cross the line to find where it is, and I'd rather take a more preemptive approach,” Milo says with an patient smirk. “‘Hurt me’ is a  _ bit _ vague. Perhaps... it would help if you could tell me exactly what you expect. Hm?”

Voraan hesitates, but not nearly as long as Milo would have thought. “I want you to hold me down and fuck me as hard as you can,” he says bluntly, finally meeting Milo’s eyes. “I want you to leave teeth marks and bruises. I want you to scratch me with your nails and pull my hair, I want you to choke me with your cock, I want you to tie me up and --” Voraan cuts himself off when Milo holds his hand up, closing his eyes to maintain control as his cock practically leaps up to stand at attention. Who knew the Inquisitor was capable of such language? “Too far?” Voraan asks weakly, and Milo can practically hear him wincing. 

But he's frozen again with how badly he wants it,  _ wants _ what Voraan is offering, and he doesn't trust this, doesn't trust himself. He takes a few moments to open his eyes and look around the room, reassessing the reality around him. “I must be dreaming…” he complains, only slightly in jest.

Voraan snorts in relief, smiling up at him with a hopeful twinkle in his eyes. 

“What vile temptation of the Fade is this?” he demands, corners of his mouth upturned despite himself. “That I should find myself in the bed of a beautiful, naked, powerful man who is asking me to  _ devour _ him?”

Voraan’s smile grows wider, brighter with each moment like the rising of the sun. “You should hurry and take advantage before you wake up,” he teases, and the pair of them lock eyes, sharing in a quiet laughter that soon fades into somber silence. Voraan pushes himself closer, their knees touching as he reaches to take Milo's hands in his own. 

Brow furrowing in concern, Milo softly traces Voraan’s knuckles with his thumb. This thing between them is fragile yet. Their whole world is fragile, the cracks of green light inside Voraan’s palm a constant reminder that any moment they share together could be their last. Still, Voraan is the least breakable person Milo has ever known. “You understand why I'm afraid, don't you?” 

Voraan presses his lips together as he considers his answer. “Because you think what you want is wrong, and if you show me that side of you, it'll scare me away?” he shrugs. 

Milo gives him a half-hearted nod. “I've almost lost you twice now, once before I ever met you,” he reminds his lover. “After all that, it would be a shame to lose you to my own -- I don't know -- selfishness? ...Greed? Humans have a reputation for mistreating and objectifying elves. I would never want you to doubt that I respect you.”

Giving him a fond look, Voraan crawls on top of him, straddling his lap as Milo takes the elf’s weight into his arms, wrapping them around his slender waist. “I know you respect me,” he says, pushing Milo's disheveled hair away from his face. “I want you to show me that you  _ want _ me, so much that it hurts. So much that you can't contain it.”

Milo tilts his head to look up at him, heart clenching in his chest, unable to stop himself from thinking about how all of this could go wrong. “You  _ will _ tell me if I go too far, won't you?”

“I promise I will.”

_ “Swear _ to me,” Milo commands, fixing him with an earnest look. “If I ever harmed you, even by accident, I could not bear it.”

“I swear on the Anchor, I will say something.” Voraan cups Milo's head in his hands. “But I trust you, ma vhenan.”

Milo lets that thought hang in the air, tension thickening between them as Voraan watches him with anticipation and chews on his lip. Waiting. 

He lets it build inside him, that burning need to take, to conquer, letting it consume him so every breath he takes is as the bellows’ fanning  of flames.

In an instant he grabs Voraan and shoves him down onto the bed, rolling him over on his stomach and then pinning him there with his weight. Leans in and appraises his reaction with the sharp eyes of a predator studying his prey. 

“Gods,  _ yes,” _ the elf says, and Milo grins wolfishly before he sinks in his teeth. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Eyes on me."   


Voraan’s quiet breathing is the loudest thing in the room, labored but steady, and Milo sinks into the rhythm of it, on alert for any change. 

Voraan kneels before him, tied with hands behind his back, eyes fixed on him intently. They’re cloudy, so Milo knows he’s floating in the sensations of pleasure and pain, arse thoroughly filled with a phallus and his back thoroughly flogged. Milo is his whole world right now, and he moves on with his plan before that thought can start to fuck with his head.

With a somewhat dramatic flare, he holds the knife up, letting it glimmer in the firelight, right in line with Voraan’s eyes. Watches them widen. Watches the elf struggle to keep his breath steady, the way he shudders just a little, from fear or arousal or both.

Still, he is almost as immovable as stone. They've practiced that much, session after session of Voraan on his knees until he can come without moving a muscle if Milo were to ask it of him. All so he can be ready for this. 

"Don't. Move," Milo reminds him again, the gritted command serving as a warning of what comes next.

The slightest shift of the lump in Voraan’s throat before he whispers his response. "...yes, ser.”

Keeping his hand steady, Milo lowers the knife, lightly running the dull edge of it down Voraan’s chest just to watch the elf’s cock twitch with interest. 

That’s the only part of him that moves, his eyes still fixed on Milo’s face, obedient and perfect. As reward, he keeps teasing with the knife, ghosting over his skin, building up the tension until he sees Voraan’s nostrils flare. Milo looks into his eyes, but there’s no conflict within them, he’s complacent in his suffering, content to let Milo dangle him over the edge between pleasure and pain. 

He turns the knife over to the sharpened edge. Presses it to the deep brown skin of Voraan’s thigh and hears the slightest catch of breath. But there’s not a sound when Milo makes the smallest of cuts, shallow so the wound just barely weeps blood.

Voraan doesn’t move, but is visibly affected, his eyes fluttering closed as he processes the pain. Still, he is so hard that it makes Milo ache on his behalf.  

"Eyes open,” Milo reminds him without emotion. “Is it good?"

"...gods…” Voraan breathes, lips barely moving. “More,  _ please." _   


More cuts. Milo drinks in the way each one affects him, the way Voraan fights to keep control of himself so every slight twitch and shudder is a victory. The way his breath is quiet and heavy as if he were on the edge of climax, and perhaps he is.

He makes Voraan talk to him, just the occasional short response, admitting he wants Milo to continue, so he doesn’t sink to far into it to speak if it gets too much. Milo knows Voraan could do this in complete silence if he wanted; the intricate vallaslin on his face is proof enough of that. But his purpose here is to push Voraan to his limits, to take him somewhere he’s never been before. 

Voraan’s thighs are covered in shallow cuts before he begins to break, his breath becoming wet and shaky and tears running from his eyes. Milo puts the knife down and gives in to his need to reassure him with affection, stroking his hair and pressing the softest of kisses to his face. “Shh, you’re alright,” he murmurs as Voraan begins to sniffle, finally falling apart when Milo gives him somewhere to fall. “You’re being so good. You’re doing so well for me,” he whispers. “Color?”

Another shaky sniffle. “Yellow,” he says, more tears falling as he blinks them away, kohl smudged and ruined.

“Alright, good,” Milo soothes as he wipes at the corner of Voraan’s eye. What happens next is in his hands, and he deliberates with himself for a moment, remembering the look on his lover’s face when he was completely lucid, when Voraan had brought up the idea many weeks ago. The small, trepidatious droop in his ears and that barely-certain look in his eyes, and the way his voice broke on the word  _ trust. _

“No more cuts,” he promises. There will be other nights, other chances to push farther. “But just a little longer. Can you do that for me?” 

Voraan’s nod is more of a shiver than a response.

“Talk to me.”

“Yes,” Voraan manages after a moment. “I can keep going.”

Milo makes him watch as he dips his finger in the blood and brings it up to his mouth, sucking the digit clean. Leans in and kisses Voraan shallowly, just enough that he leans into it and licks after the coppery taste when Milo pulls away too quickly for his liking. He's sinking deep and this time Milo doesn't stop him, permits him to close his eyes and let everything except Milo completely fade away.    


He kneels against Voraan’s side and takes himself in hand, stroking himself so that the elf can feel every motion of his knuckles against the sensitive skin beneath his ribs. Buries his face in Voraan’s hair and torments him with his sounds of pleasure, gasping breaths and growling moans until he finally spends onto Voraan’s hip with a string of reverent curses and an inarticulate shout. 

Milo keeps close to him, sinks his teeth into his pulse point and runs his nails along his back where it's raw from flogging, and it’s this flaring of nerves that rips the guttural moan from Voraan’s throat. Milo grins, sadistically gleeful, reveling in the victory of it, baring his teeth and grazing them along the bruise he’s left on Voraan’s neck. Finally runs the heel of his palm along the elf’s leaking, neglected cock.   


“Alright then, come for me, sweetheart,” he breaths, and lets Voraan hump his hand. He lets out little determined grunts as he chases pleasure through the pain, eyelids fluttering as each thrust makes the cuts on his thigh shift and flame up with more pain. “Yes, that’s it,” Milo encourages as he senses Voraan near completion, and tops everything off with a hard yank of fiery red hair. “You suffer so beautifully for me,” he says, and Voraan nearly screams when he comes, each aftershock accompanied by a helpless sob. 

Milo swiftly unties him, removes the phallus, and lets Voraan lean against him with his whole weight, cushioned by all the expendable pillows they’ve scattered on the floor. Tries to calm him with the sound of his voice; though he’s not even sure Voraan will understand him or remember what he said, every word is carefully chosen, deliberate and loving and full of praise. An elfroot potion and a gentle cleaning, and then he carries him up to the bed, settling them both on it with Voraan cradled in his arms. He buries his face into Milo’s chest, and Milo just holds him and rewards him with kisses, waiting with a watchful eye until he comes back to himself. 


End file.
